


Sleepless in Belgravia

by AustralianSpy



Series: Tales de Jim Moriarty [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, M/M, POV Sebastian Moran, POV Third Person Limited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 08:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AustralianSpy/pseuds/AustralianSpy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian Moran returns home to find his boss in yet another foul mood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepless in Belgravia

Sebastian Moran knew as soon as he stepped through the doorway of his boss’ home in Belgravia that that day would not be a pleasant one. He had worked through the night, hunting down a flighty businessman who had not payed his dues to the Devil. Needless to say, the man now lay dead in a gutter somewhere, a bullet through his head. But as he stepped gingerly across the threshold the following morning, the sniper wondered if perhaps he should’ve stayed away.

His boss was prone to his little tantrums – they were especially prevalent on days which Sebastian was gone from home – so the fact that one had occurred in his absence was no surprise to him. But the extent of it? That was horrifying.

Dishes were smashed to pieces on the floor of the kitchen, as if they’d been taken by both hands and slammed downwards; the wall beside the stairwell had been skewered and carved into chaotic patterns that Sebastian could make no real sense of; further up, on the second floor, he could see into his boss’ study where books were violently tossed about in disarray, many with pages torn from their bindings and ripped to shreds; and the final destination – the boss’ bedroom – was a holy terror. The man’s bedsheets and covers had been pulled from the furniture itself and scattered willy-nilly around the room. The mattress was overturned and upon the floor, where it appeared he’d attempted to set fire to the thing, judging by the dirty black marks scarring its surface. Books littered the floor here, too; along with the tattered remains of curtains, and the entire contents of his wardrobe spilled onto the carpet in a heap.

On the opposite side of the large room lit by the glow of morning sunshine spilling in, the doors to the balcony were flung wide open. Sebastian could see Jim Moriarty there with his back to him, leaning against the railing and peering over it, framed by the soft rays of the early-risen sun. Sebastian didn’t dare approach too close. Jim was clearly in some sort of mood, and he valued his life too much to bother the criminal mastermind at the moment. He instead cleared his throat tentatively, to announce his presence. “‘M home, boss. So ye know,” he said, each word slow and very particularly-placed so as not to agitate. His boss doesn’t respond, however. He won’t, for whatever reason.

The lack of a response felt too open-ended, but pressing for a word or two was extremely dangerous. Sebastian toed the ground, lingering for that extra moment just in case. But it was in vain, as Jim didn’t even acknowledge the other man’s presence. With a heavy sigh, Sebastian reluctantly trudged out of the room.

It took all day for the sniper to straighten up the mess made by his employer. He worked from the ground-floor, up. He started in the kitchen, and cursed when he managed to slice his skin open on the jagged edges of the broken china. By the time he’d finished, Jim still remained on the balcony, leaving Sebastian wondering if the man had moved even a centimeter the whole day.

Come nightfall, Sebastian was still alone in the flat. Jim had never emerged from outside, and the sniper knew well enough to let him act at his own pace. After a scalding hot shower, Sebastian retired to bed, fidgety and worried about Jim, who – as far as he knew – was still outside.

His attempts at sleep were fitful and restless. There came a point where Sebastian rolled onto his side, opening bleary eyes to stare accusingly at the digital clock on the nightstand. Two in the morning. Two in the morning, and he’d slept perhaps an hour, on and off. Heaving a sigh that whooshed from his lungs in one long, tired sweep, he sat up in bed. He tossed the covers off of himself and swung his legs around to haul himself off the bed. He grunted as he stretched his arms over his head, then shuffled his way out of the room.

The hallway was dark, and he fumbled his hand along the wall until it bumped the light-switch to illuminate the corridor. Sebastian blinked under the sudden glare, squinting until he reached the boss’ room. He slowly peeked his head inside, just enough to see where the boss was. The room was just as dark as the corridor had been, the furniture indistinct masses in the gloom. The only light being shed inside came from the city lights outside: the balcony doors still stood open.

Warily, the sniper stepped the rest of the way into the room. Each step he took was tentative, as if the floor might be littered with landmines that one misstep would trigger. Jim stood exactly where Sebastian had left him that morning, forearms rested on the balcony railing, torso partially leaned over it and head tipped just-downwards. The cool night air made Sebastian shiver, and he folded his arms over his chest against the breeze, hands rubbing at the upper portion of them.

“Bossman?” He ventured to speak, though his voice was only barely above a whisper. He didn’t want to startle the man into some sort of outraged fit at being disturbed. When Jim neglected to respond, Sebastian continued, “It’s two in th’ mornin’, y’know. Y’ haven’t moved a mite.”

By then, Sebastian had stepped close enough to stand directly to his boss’ right. He leaned his side against the railing. Turned fully to face the other man, the sniper studied Jim’s face silently. Shadows haunted each curve of his features; and his eyes held a look that Sebastian knew well. Jim often bore the expression, when observing others. It was the look a man might wear while looking down upon ants scuttling around his feet. A detached sort of disdain and disinterest. Jim wore it then, as he watched the night-time stragglers making their ways down the street below them.

“Is somethin’ wrong?” Sebastian chewed his lip worriedly. “When was th’ last time ye slept?”

Now, Sebastian had learned how to judge Jim’s responses to that question. If it had been one to three days since his boss had slept, he’d outright say so. If it had been anywhere from four days to a week, he’d mutter a dismissive ‘I don’t know’. But if it had been any length of time _greater_ than a week, he’d neglect to respond at all.

Sebastian’s frown deepened when the criminal turned his head just slightly away from the sniper, without answering.

So it had been more than a week.

He reached out a hand, tentatively, as if to touch Jim’s arm. But when he came within an inch of it, he thought better of the action, and his hand retreated. “Why don’ ye ever just tell me wha’s th’ matter, huh?”  His voice is a low, agitated murmur. “Ye get in these moods all th’ bleedin’ time, an’ never say _why_.” No move from Jim, as if he hasn’t heard a word Sebastian’s said. “I know ye don’ sleep ‘cause ye have nightmares. Y’ could tell me wha’ they’re about. Might help ye.”

Jim turned suddenly and abruptly, storming his way back inside. Sebastian was on his heels in an instant, eyes wide. “Boss?!” They were halfway into the room when Jim suddenly rounded on him, full-on in his sniper’s face.

“What?!” he demanded, voice pitched loudly and angrily. “What do you want, Sebastian?! If I wanted to talk to you, don’t you think I’d have started by now?” Jim’s voice tapered off to a dangerous hiss by the end of his sentence, eyes flashing maliciously.

“I…” Sebastian faltered, unsure of himself and what exactly to say. “I jus’ want t’ help, boss. Tha’s it."

“I don’t _want_ your help. I don’t _need_ your help,” Jim snapped, before stalking out of the room. His sniper followed like a shadow. “Our minds are our prisons, Sebastian. Specially constructed with the sole purpose of tormenting us. But they are _private_ penitentiaries, you stupid tiger, and I have no intent to share mine with _you._ ”

That hurt. It wasn’t being called ‘stupid’ that wounded Sebastian. He’d worked for Jim for years, so he’d naturally had the term thrown at him thousands of times. No, it was the way he’d punctuated that assertion. ‘I have no intent to share mine with _you_ ’. You. The way he’d spat out the word; like it was absolutely distasteful to even consider talking to Sebastian. The man that’d been faithfully at his side for more than a decade. The sniper had believed that merited a little more trust than he was given. Apparently he was wrong.

They found themselves in Jim’s study, where he was violently rifling through his things, looking for God knows what, and making a complete mess in the process. Sebastian finally grabbed onto his employer’s arm roughly, eliciting a string of vulgar curses and protests.

“Stop it. Stop it righ’ now, ye hear me?” he snarled, his grip tightening on Jim’s arm when he attempted to jerk away. “I’ve had _enough_ of yer shit. Of yer not tellin’ me a damned thing, an’ goin’ around an’ tearin’ shit up – with no damn explanation or _nothin’_ – for _me_ t’ clean up. ‘M done with it!”

Still with an iron grip on his boss’ arm, he dragged him out of the study. Jim was howling his disapproval, flinging insult after insult at the man, and attempting to kick the back of his sniper’s shins. But Sebastian continued undeterred until they’d made it down the stairs and to the sitting room. He roughly shoved Jim onto the couch, and jabbed a finger at him. “Fuckin’ _sit there_ ,” he growled. “If y’ move, I’ll tie ye down.”

The criminal must have just been too shocked to disobey, because he simply sat there, mouth agape. Sebastian didn’t spare any time, in case the surprise wore off. He rifled through his cabinet of DVD’s, found one Jim might at least _slightly_ tolerate – some stupid slasher-flick to which he could point out all the plot-holes and laugh at the gore – and put it into the DVD player. He dropped heavily onto the couch beside Jim with a sigh, remote in hand.

“I’m not watching this rubbish.”

When his boss moved to stand, Sebastian snatched his wrist. Despite knowing how much Jim hated to be touched, he yanked him back down, then aggressively wrapped an arm around the man to force him to stay still. Jim protested loudly, squirming and growling threats of homicide and general maiming. Sebastian ignored him; simply crushing his boss against his side in what was most likely the most uncomfortable and hostile instance of a forced-embrace to be documented.

Jim sat as rigidly as possibly for quite some time, most likely in defiance. He’d scoffed and turned his nose up at cuddling often, and no doubt resented being forced into it. Through nearly the entire first half of the movie, Sebastian could hear Jim muttering under his breath: suggestions of vulgar and macabre things Sebastian ‘ought to go do to himself’, as well as disdainful comments about the film. The sniper pointedly didn’t respond to a single one. He instead concentrated on the telly. It was the only light in the darkness of the room, and focusing on the shoddy film kept him awake.

It didn’t have the same effect on Jim, however – just as Sebastian had hoped. With a half an hour left, Sebastian realized that he no longer heard the low, indignant tones of his boss’ voice, and that there was no longer any resistance against the arm wrapped tightly around him. Glancing down, the sniper could only smile. The terrible film had lulled the insomniac criminal to sleep. Jim’s head had settled onto Sebastian’s shoulder as slumber relaxed him, and his breath sighed out softly and rhythmically.

It took much careful and slow maneuvering for Sebastian to wheedle his way out from under his boss without disturbing him, so that he could rise to his feet. He then gently slipped his arms under Jim, and with a grunt, lifted him. He walked with meticulous care through the house so as not to bump into anything, climbing the stairs up to Jim’s room. As if he were handling a live bomb, he slowly lowered the man onto his bed, undressed and re-dressed him in nightclothes with the utmost solicitude, then threw a blanket over him. He lingered beside his bed a moment, proud that he’d managed to lull Jim to sleep. He must be some sort of wizard.

His mission accomplished, Sebastian wandered back to his own room. It was just after three in the morning. Still time for him to get his own sleep.

He wasn’t settled under the sheets for long, however. His eyes were drooping, heavy with the anticipation of slumber, when he began hearing it. The voice was muffled, but unmistakable. With a sigh of worry more than anger, Sebastian hauled himself back out of bed and crept down the corridor to peer into his boss’ room once more.

In a short span of time, Jim had gotten tangled up in the blanket his sniper had covered him with, and was tossing and turning restlessly. Unintelligible words reached the man’s ears. They were muffled by sleep, but the agitation was clear. He was already having a nightmare.

Sebastian padded closer on silent feet, lowering down to sit on the edge of the large bed. Why did Jim need such a large bed? He hardly even used it. Sebastian cautiously reached out a hand to push his boss’ sweaty bangs off of his forehead, murmuring in low tones, “S’alright, boss. Shh.”

He had no way of knowing if Jim could hear him or not. He decided he most likely only did subconsciously, or else he would’ve woken and thrown Sebastian from his room for being so sentimental.

His soothing whispers and his fingers lightly stroking the man’s forehead seemed to calm him, though. Slowly, the distressed mutterings ceased. Sebastian contemplated returning to his own room once again, but thought better of it. He knew as soon as he did, the nightmare would return in full force. It always did.

So, the sniper crawled his way under the covers with Jim, who was snoring gently. He would just have to endeavor to wake before his boss, so he would never know he was there.

Sebastian smiled slightly and closed his eyes when Jim rolled over and curled into him.


End file.
